The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  “And there it is. I knew you were building to something. No, thanks. My performing days are over.” Crystal folded the towel and placed it on the counter. She untied the water-soaked apron and tossed it in the laundry bin at the end of the counter. Noticing Max’s eyes drop to her bare midsection, she untied the knot in her shirt and let it fall to her waist. “If you know about Dino’s, then you know how things turned out the last time someone tried to help me with all that.”

  Max said, “I’m not interested in helping you perform. I want you to help other people.” This time it was Crystal who was quiet. The anger and tension in her face faded. She tilted her head to the left and stared at Max curiously. He said, “Almost a third of this building is still not being used. I could, of course, convert it to offices and rent it out, but there’s already enough available commercial space downtown. I want to continue what we started here and make it more for the community. I was thinking maybe converting the rooms to classrooms and offering some courses for my employees and people in the community. When I was talking to Penny about this, she told me about your singing and dancing and how your mother was a music teacher for preschool kids. I thought maybe we could put in a dance studio and have some sort of music-related classes. Was thinking you might be interested in teaching, or at least helping set it up. What do you say? Are you interested?”

  Crystal’s first thought was of her mom and how many kids she had helped, most of all her, over the years. Crystal had been so focused on getting herself healthy that she hadn’t thought about much else other than staying sober and her responsibilities at the Oasis. Her performing days might be over, but that didn’t mean she had to completely shut down that side of herself. But this was Max she was talking to. Nothing was ever as it seems with him. She looked back in his direction. His earnest demeanor softened her further. She knew she wasn’t, and probably wouldn’t ever be, completely cured, but she was feeling better. At some point, she would have to find more than the Oasis. His offer was just too much, too soon, though. She said, “I don’t know. I think it’s best if I just focus on me right now. But thanks for the opportunity.”

  Later that evening on the bike ride home with Bill, Crystal pedaled up alongside of him as they rode down Carson behind Container Park. She said, “Max came to me earlier with a pretty crazy idea.”

  Breathing heavily, Bill downshifted into a lower gear. “Oh yeah? What was that?”

  Crystal slowed her pedaling to make it easier on him. She said, “He wants to use some of the available space at the Western for music and dance classes for kids.”

  “Well that doesn’t sound very crazy at all. Don’t think there’s anything like that downtown.”

  They stopped at the traffic light waiting to cross Las Vegas Boulevard. Crystal stepped off the pedals and turned toward Bill. “The crazy part is that he wants me to teach them. Can you imagine that? Me! A teacher!”

  “I think that sounds amazing.” The light turned green, but both of them stayed where they were, straddling their bikes. “Wasn’t your mom a teacher?”

  “She was, but you know what she wasn’t?” Crystal said. “A recovering drug addict, alcoholic, former stripper.”

  Bill said, “I hate when you say things like that. Is that what you think of yourself?”

  Another bike rider heading in the same direction swerved around them, staring as he passed, complaining about them blocking the bike lane. They both walked their bikes over to the curb. Crystal said, “I am all those things though.”

  “But you’re so much more,” Bill said. “Why just focus on the negatives?”

  Crystal didn’t have an answer. She motioned at the light, which turned green again. “We should keep moving.”

  They rolled forward in silence, crossing Las Vegas Boulevard and continuing west on Carson. The sun was dipping behind the high-rise buildings that lined Third and Fourth Streets ahead, covering the road with long shadows. It was Bill who sped up to ride alongside Crystal this time. He said, “The only thing crazy about that idea is that you’re considering not doing it. I know you and Max have got history, but like him or hate him, he is a damn good businessman with a pretty amazing track record. Do you think he would ever suggest something that would lose money or make him look bad?”

  Crystal drew quiet again and just pedaled. They turned left on Third Street heading south to the Juhl. Dwarfed by the Regional Justice Center, the street was in complete shade and ten degrees cooler. She thought about what Bill had said. He did have a good point. Max would never put his reputation in jeopardy. She said, “I do miss singing and dancing, and my mom used to have me help her with her classes all the time, so I do have some experience. Maybe it’s not so crazy after all.”

  Dow Jones Close: 17,068.71

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Date: Wednesday, September 17, 2014

  Dow Jones Open: 17,131.01

  The drive to Los Angeles was the first time Penny had really been out of Vegas since moving there. She had hiked several times in Red Rock Canyon, done a loop around Lake Mead, and paid a visit to the Hoover Dam, but after doing those, she turned around and drove home. For this trip she wanted to leave and know she wasn’t coming back that night. She needed different faces and different spaces. That was the main reason she drove. She could’ve easily taken the hour flight in the morning, met with Damon and the producer he had lined up, and flown home that evening, but she wouldn’t have felt like she was actually away. She wanted to experience every minute of the five-hour drive, to see the landscape change from city to desert to mountain and back to city.

  The onslaught of signs and billboards for the Mad Greek Café plastered along Interstate 15 and her pulsing head from not sleeping the night before forced a stop in Baker for a gyro and a Greek coffee. She should’ve known better than varying from her eating routine. Both ran right through her, triggering another stop in Barstow. Winding around a curve through the San Bernardino Mountains, her decision to substitute coffee for sleep caught up with her. Mountains towered on all sides. Beyond the guardrail to the left was only empty space. Vertigo overtook her. She rolled down the windows and slowed to forty miles per hour. The dizziness lingered. She navigated to the right lane. At least if she was going to pass out, crashing into the berm would be better than taking out the surrounding traffic. Cursing her decision to drive, she took long, slow breaths until she descended into Rancho Cucamonga and was safely on the long straightaway through the eastern suburbs. The closer she got, the more nervous she became about her meeting with Damon—the main reason for the insomnia the night before. She needed to get back to work and do something meaningful. She had been reluctant to get married because she never wanted to sacrifice her career. She had resented and blamed Alec for not supporting her after the loss of the baby, causing the affair with Fritjof and the loss of her job. Les helped her realize that it was her that gave it all away. To get her life back, she needed her career back.

  Despite the importance of the meeting, when traffic slowed to a crawl on I-10 and she had to call Damon to say she would be late, she was secretly hoping he would suggest postponing it, just to have a little more time to prepare. But of course he had planned on her being late and had scheduled the meeting two hours later than what he had told her. With the traffic, the estimated drive time was increasing toward five and a half hours, giving her plenty of time to get in the right mindset and also to think about what she would say to the others.

  She knew Max would gladly be on board. Anything that promoted him or his business that he didn’t have to pay for was a windfall. Les would be pragmatic about the idea, balancing the benefits for everyone along with those of the Oasis. As long as everyone else agreed, he would be in. Bill would support her unless Crystal opposed, then he would probably stick up for Crystal. So it would all really come down to Crystal, and Penny knew how she would respond. That’s also why she was so nervous. Crystal would never go for it
. But the chances of CBS going for the idea were even slimmer, so Penny decided to worry about Crystal on the drive home.

  The original plan was for Penny to check into the InterContinental in Century City, and Damon would swing by and pick her up. From there, they would head across town to the CBS offices in Studio City. But her delay thwarted that plan, and she had to go straight to Damon’s office on Avenue of the Stars, which was conveniently around the corner from her hotel but still thirty minutes away from the Studio City meeting.

  She pulled into the U-shaped drive in front of the towering office building. Ferraris, Porsches, and Range Rovers filled the lanes. It resembled the valet area of a luxury hotel rather than an office building. She loved her BMW 3 Series, but it didn’t measure up to the other cars, much like she didn’t really compare to the high-end talent that probably had driven the cars here. She waved off the attendant, informing him she was merely picking up. He directed her to a yellow area along the curb. While waiting, she rooted out her makeup and did her best to hide the lack of sleep and being captive in the car for most of the day.

  Damon walked up and tugged on the passenger-side door handle. He was dressed stylishly, as usual, in an all chocolate suit and shirt with a champagne tie. Penny dropped the makeup into her purse and threw it into the backseat. Rolling down the passenger window, she said, “Come over on this side. You’re going to have to drive. I need to change on the way.” She sprung from the car, gave Damon a quick hug, and climbed into the back.

  Damon slid behind the wheel and maneuvered the car onto Avenue of the Stars.

  Penny rummaged through her bag for an outfit that wouldn’t be wrinkled. “Looking at those cars, business must be good.”

  “Oh those aren’t my clients,” Damon said. “My clients have to park in the garage.” His eyes occasionally flashed in the rearview mirror to connect with Penny’s.

  “Like me, you mean.” Penny unbuttoned her pants and inched them down around her hips, catching his eyes in the mirror. She stopped, flipping her hand up at the mirror. Damon angled the mirror toward the roof of the car to give her privacy. She slipped the jeans off and tossed them on the floor. “So what do you think our chances are?”

  Damon said, “Actually I’d say pretty good. The senior producer for CBS Sunday Morning I pitched the idea to liked it enough to set this meeting with the executive producer. Hopefully this one goes better than the last meeting we had.” He turned his head to the right to show the smile on his face.

  “Eyes on the road, buster.” Penny pulled up her black pencil skirt and fastened it around her waist. “On the drive here, I about passed out from a panic attack, so it could get exciting.” She replaced her T-shirt with a sleeveless lime-green top and cinched a thin black belt around her waist to accent her figure. “OK, you can have your mirror back.”

  Damon readjusted the mirror, smiling and nodding his approval at the transformation. “In all seriousness, are you sure you want to risk such a big project on people you just met and, well, to be frank, who have proven to be unreliable?”

  “I’m willing to take that chance. I just really need to do something else. You said yourself, you have five sports jobs you could land me in tomorrow.” She held up two different earrings to her ears and leaned over, checking to see how they looked in the mirror. “I just don’t want to go backward. This is my break to branch out and do something more serious.” She grabbed the black suede, pointed-toe pumps next to her, leaned up between the seats, and climbed through.

  They winded along Coldwater Canyon Drive to Ventura, planning the strategy for the meeting, deciding who would say what, discussing the timeline to deliver if there was interest, and determining the type of deal they would push for. Despite all the stress from the trip, the hurrying up and slowing down in traffic, the freshening up and changing in the car, they actually arrived ready and five minutes early. An assistant to the executive producer greeted them in the lobby and showed them to the meeting room.

  Penny was sweating profusely under the black jacket she had slipped on over her sleeveless shirt. She wanted to take it off, but was afraid the sweat rings under her arms would be visible. Damon sat in the middle of the long rectangular table facing the door. Penny paced behind him. Damon pulled out the chair next to him. “Have a seat and relax, or pretend to be relaxed. Remember they’re buying you even more than the story.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’m just a little out of practice.“ Penny sat down next to him. She took one of the napkins next to the tray of pastries and fruit in the center of the table and dabbed first under her left arm then her right. The CBS contingent, consisting of three people, entered. Penny subtly crumpled the napkin and tucked it under her right thigh on the seat. Damon rose to greet them. Penny followed him around the table for the introductions.

  From CBS was Sunday Morning’s executive producer, Lynn Chang. Penny recognized Lynn from her days as a correspondent on the nightly news back when Penny was in college studying journalism. Now in her fifties, Lynn had gray streaks in her silky-black hair, but she still had the penetrating stare and high cheekbones that always found a way to draw the truth out of people. Along with Lynn was Nila Rogers, a senior producer for the show. Based on the awkward professionalism between Damon and Nila, Penny thought it might’ve been more than the strength of the idea that secured the meeting. Nila was a natural beauty, the type that actually had to work to conceal it. She sported black-framed wayfarer eyeglasses, had her dishwater-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wore minimal makeup. Her tailored black two-piece suit hugged the curves of her slender six-foot frame while covering her from shoulder to ankles, except for the small triangle of exposed skin under her neck from the single open button at the top of her white blouse. The other person was introduced only as “Lynn’s assistant,” and she slunk off to the side to take notes.

  After the introductory chitchat, each person made a small plate of food, and the two sides took their seats across from each other. Lynn transitioned the conversation to the intended business. “I have to say, when Nila first pitched the idea to do a Vegas piece, I wasn’t interested. Vegas is always changing but it never changes. When she told me it was about rebirth and second chances, though, I warmed to the idea. Why don’t you tell me more about it?”

  Damon looked at Penny and nodded. She steadied herself, keeping her back straight, shoulders pulled back, and arms at her side, just like she was on camera. “The title is Community Money. It’s a personal interest story about four people who moved to Las Vegas and how their lives became intertwined, and they learn to help each other. There’s a former policeman who retired from New Jersey only to lose his wife and find himself completely alone in a foreign city; a talented singer and dancer who relocated from LA to perform in a show and had the show close before opening, forcing her to turn to stripping to make ends meet; a Catholic priest who left the Church to take over a homeless mission and was forced to rely on gambling to keep the doors open because of rising costs and shrinking donations; and a successful entrepreneur who overextended himself wanting to keep his business in Vegas, and as result faced bankruptcy.”

  Nila said, “And what’s your connection to these people? What makes you the one to tell this story?”

  “I guess you could say that I’m just like they are,” Penny said. “I’ve witnessed it all happen firsthand. I met them at a blackjack table shortly after I moved to Vegas and have watched it all unfold.”

  Lynn said, “This is a little outside your style of reporting isn’t it? I’ve seen some of your clips from St. Louis, and your background is all sports, correct?”

  Penny shifted in her seat, feeling the power of Lynn’s gaze directed upon her. “Yes, that’s correct. But one of my motivations in coming west is that I want to transition away from sports into more human-interest pieces.”

  Damon said, “We think this could be the perfect vehicle and platform to launch this new direction
.”

  “It sounds to me that you’ve forgotten one story, though: your story.” Lynn plucked one of the grapes from her plate and popped it into her mouth. “This is about five people, not four. Telling their stories is your own rebirth.”

  The room fell quiet. Penny mulled Lynn’s response. Breaking the silence, Penny said, “Well, I’d prefer to keep myself separate from the story. I don’t want to take away from the others.”

  Lynn shook her head. “But you’d only be telling part of the story that way. You’re not just a fly on the wall. You are the story as much as they are. It gives it credibility and integrity and another layer of emotion.” Lynn paused, letting her words sink in. “Tell you what, you guys think it over and let us know. If you’re willing to tell the complete story, then I think we can work something out.”

  Damon looked at Penny, who was just staring straight ahead, not responding one way or another. He said, “I think we’re open to that. We don’t need any more time, do we? Let’s just hammer out the details right here. What do you say, Pen?”

  Penny looked over at him. She didn’t really agree, but she wasn’t ready to blow up the deal over it. “Um, yeah, sure. Of course. If that’s how you want to do it. I’m totally on board.”

  “Outstanding.” Lynn stood from the table. “I’ll leave Nila to work out the details with you. You tell us when you’re ready for a camera crew, and we’ll send one over. Let’s target the rough footage to be done in no later than four weeks, and we tentatively air in eight to twelve weeks. This will tie in well with some other holiday stories.”

  After Lynn exited the room, Damon, Penny, and Nila went through the standard contract for independent contractors, all the release forms that would be needed from the others, and the production resources available to Penny to develop and execute the segment.